


Little King Trashmouth (And His Raccoon Friends)

by Glitter_Bug



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, He's not just soft he's pretty much melted in this, M/M, Oh so fluffy, Soft Billy Hargrove, Swearing, it's Billy, just a lil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29115822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitter_Bug/pseuds/Glitter_Bug
Summary: Billy becomes an absolute smitten MESS when Steve finds a raccoon out by the bins.It's adorable.Steve kneels down, grimacing as some trash water soaks into the knees of his jeans, trying to coax the cat out with a gentle stroke, and then a bit more of a tug when it doesn't work.He wonders if it's stuck, got its head lodged in a can of tuna or something, so he reaches in even further, managing to grab the kitty by the scruff of its neck and pull it gently backwards, grinning in triumph when the animal allows itself to be manhandled with a surprising lack of fuss.Steve stands up, his arm outstretched in front of him, holding a fat, fluffy...critter by the scruff of his neck.It's not Mr Richardson's tabby.It's not even a cat.It's a damn raccoon.He turns to show Billy, waiting for the sneer of disgust or a huff of annoyanceAnd instead, Steve watches as Billy melts. Instantly.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 16
Kudos: 93





	1. Trash Pandas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [polychromos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/polychromos/gifts).



> This fic was entirely inspired by the wonderful Mono and their INCREDIBLE artwork of Billy and Steve finding a raccoon in the trash.  
> (Honestly, go look at it [here](https://twitter.com/monochromegee/status/1355136934100795400) because it is the SWEETEST thing in the world!
> 
> And yeah, this is pretty much just sweet, fluffy softness and the boys being adorable together.

Steve loves everything about the house he and Billy share together.  
He loves that it's theirs. Their own place. Two bedrooms and one big bed and a porch and a yard and a yellow door that Steve had painted himself.  
And maybe he hadn't used exactly the right paint, and maybe it looked like more of a greeny colour where the old blue had started to show through.  
But, if anything, that just made it feel even more like _theirs_. 

Steve thinks that his favourite thing, other than his yellowgreen door, is the couch. The one that was a housewarming gift from his mom.   
It had luxuriously soft cushions, it didn't creak ominously when Steve threw himself onto it after a long day, and it even had in-built footrests for when he and Billy really wanted to relax.  
And, most importantly, it was just big enough for him and Billy to both stretch right out on it if they cuddled really close.  
A fact that Steve is definitely making the most of right now, with Billy spread out underneath him. Steve has one hand deftly unbuttoning Billy's shirt, while the other skims teasingly over the skin he’s already uncovered.  
Billy's sitting back on his elbows, biting his lip against a moan as Steve leans forward to nibble at the skin behind his ear.

“Bit sensitive there, baby?” Steve teases pressing a soothing kiss against the same spot, “Maybe we should-”

There's a sudden, echoing crash outside, and Steve jerks backwards, his hand shooting out instinctively to grab the bat that he keeps by the side of the bed.  
But he's not in bed.  
 _Shit  
_ Billy freezes below him, terrified eyes flicking to the door and a tremor running through his body, and Steve takes a second to run a reassuring hand down his arm.

“‘S OK, baby. It’ll be the Gorman’s kid driving into the mailbox again. Third time this month, right?”

Billy nods, flinching as another crash rings out through the air, and Steve jumps up to look out of the window,  
"It's the bins, just the bins.”  
  
He can’t see them from here, but it’s the most likely explanation he can think of. He doesn’t let his mind wander to other potential causes. “Probably a cat or some-"  
There's another noise, a rippling, ringing sound, and Steve’s hand once again twitches for want of a weapon. 

"Billy...stay here, OK? I'll go sort it." 

"Yeah, no chance," Billy growls, following closely behind Steve as he slips out of the room and into the kitchen. They creep quietly out of the back door, not even stopping to put on shoes, heading straight towards the source of all the commotion.  
  
It doesn't take much to figure out the issue.  
The porch light may be dim, but it's easy enough to see that both of the trash cans have been pushed over, their lids rolling away and their bags spilling everywhere.  
One of which is rustling and shaking and...moving.  
Because there’s definitely _something_ there.  
Steve reaches behind him, pushing Billy back towards the house.   
It's like trying to push a damn brick wall.  
So Steve steps forward instead.  
And then he sees it.

"Oh!” 

A striped, fluffy tail is poking out of one of the ripped trash bags.   
It looks a lot like Mr. Richardson's grouchy tabby cat from over the road, so Steve gives the fluffy butt a gentle nudge with his big toe,  
  
“Hey, go on. Get. Shoo."

The creature attached to the tail does not budge.   
Steve nudges again, a bit harder, and the cat disappears even further into the bag.  
Steve kneels down, grimacing as some trash water soaks into the knees of his jeans, trying to coax the cat out with a gentle stroke, and then a bit more of a tug when it doesn't work.   
He wonders if it's stuck, got its head lodged in a can of tuna or something, so he reaches in even further, managing to grab the kitty by the scruff of its neck and pull it gently backwards, grinning in triumph when the animal allows itself to be manhandled with a surprising lack of fuss. 

Steve stands up, his arm outstretched in front of him, holding a fat, fluffy...critter by the scruff of his neck.  
It's not Mr Richardson's tabby.  
It's not even a cat.  
It's a damn raccoon.

He turns to show Billy, waiting for the sneer of disgust or a huff of annoyance.  
And instead, Steve watches as Billy melts. Instantly.

"Oh. My. God!" he gasps, and Steve blinks as Billy’s voice leaps up a few octaves, his hands flying up to his face.

"Oh oh oh! He’s so cute. Steve, look! Look at his squishy face and oh my god, oh my god his little _hands!_ Oh he's a _baby!"_

It was a voice Steve didn’t know that Billy possessed, simpering and squeaky and getting so high pitched that Steve actually winces when Billy goes on to describe more bits of the raccoon, like his ‘fuzzy-wuzzy’ tail and his ‘teeny tufty ears’.  
Steve is somewhat less smitten by their new neighbour.

“Did you not have raccoons in California?” he shakes his head at Billy's fawning, “They’re vermin. It’s a pest. I gotta get rid of it.”

“You’re a pest and I haven't got rid of you,” Billy smirks, but Steve doesn’t respond, shoving his feet into the still-laced Nikes by the door and padding down the porch stairs with the surprisingly docile raccoon still held out in front of him.  
Billy quickly follows, the grass muddying his bare feet and wetting the hem of his jeans as he hurries to keep up with Steve’s long strides.

“Wait, where are you gonna take him? What are you gonna do? Steve?” 

And he sounds so worried that Steve pauses, turning back with a reassuring smile. 

“Chill, Bill. Just gonna let him...there we go,” Steve kneels down at the edge of the lawn and lets the raccoon drop from his hands, shooing it away when it plops to the ground and sits there looking dazed.

"Go on, Steve urges, giving it a poke with the toe of his sneaker, "Off home. Back to your...burrow? Hive?"

He looks over at Billy who shrugs and leans against a tree, staring down at the befuddled raccoon with a dopey smile on his face.  
Steve and Billy wait.  
  
The raccoon doesn't move.  
  
They wait a little longer.  
  
The raccoon ambles away a few inches, then flumps back down to sit with its legs splayed.

“Y’think he's OK?” Billy asks, looking concerned, "We did throw out those nasty weed brownies last week. Maybe he's super stoned?"

Steve shakes his head, "Ugh, those things would've poisoned it first. Nah, it's probably in a food coma. Just leave it Bill, I'm gonna get some rocks to put on the bins until we can get some proper locks."

Billy moves away for a few steps, but then he stops, still fixated on the raccoon huddled in the grass. Steve leaves him to it, heading back to sorts the bins- getting the cans righted and the majority of the mess contained before weighing down the lids with a few heavy rocks from the yard- before wandering back to find Billy still out there, sitting back in a crouch and waiting until the little critter finally scampers away into the night.

*

The raccoon comes back again the next night, causing a similar commotion as the boys sit down to watch _Knight Rider_ .   
Billy gets up immediately and heads to the kitchen, leaning right over the sink and pressing his face against the window to watch as the critter delves into the bins, Steve peers out from behind him, grumbling as the raccoon simply pushes repeatedly against the trashcans until the rocks, and the lids, fall off.  
He makes almost as much mess as before, ripping through bags and spreading the trash around as he hunts for food.  
This time, Steve grabs a broom on his way out of the door, but Billy's hand is on his sleeve, grabbing him back.

"No, no, baby, don't hurt him. Please."

Steve stills, holding his hands up in surrender, "Not going to hurt him, Bill. I'm just going to...encourage him to get on his way."

Billy's face falls, "Don't hit him, just...just be humane." He puts a hand on the broom, trying to tug it away from Steve. His eyes are big and pleading and Steve's heart clenches when the penny finally drops.

"I- I wasn't gonna... Billy, I really won't hurt him, I promise. I was going to...kinda sweep him."

Steve mimes a sweeping action, "A little push in the right direction," he mimes again, adding a _swooshing_ sound effect for good measure. But Billy still looks unsure, so Steve shakes his head and lets go of the broom, leaving it leaning up against the wall, 

"I don't have to. It's OK. I'll pick him up again, yeah? All gentle. I'll grab some gloves and-"

There's a sudden squeal from outside, high pitched and terrifying, followed by a burst of angry yowling, and Steve and Billy exchange a quick glance before dashing out, only to find Mr. Richardson's angry tabby with her fur standing on end and her tail swishing, eyeing up the baby raccoon with a menacing glare in her eye. 

"Shit," Steve mutters, at the same time that Billy strides over, flapping his hands and stomping his feet, a gesture that would have had more impact had he been wearing something a bit more heavy duty than his Scooby Doo socks,

"Get away, pick on someone your own size you damn pussy!"

The cat hisses a warning at Billy before it advances even closer to the raccoon baby; Steve's about to head back in to grab the broom when there's another growling sound from behind them and he turns in time to see a rotund mound of striped fur come barrelling at the cat.

It's another raccoon. Much bigger than the little baby. And this one looks _tough._

It charges into the cat, sending it spinning, and Steve winces at the hisses and yelps coming from both creatures as they roll around the ripped bags. It's only seconds before the cat is running away, tail down and ears back, utterly defeated. The big raccoon still chases it for a few yards, baring her teeth, before she returns to grab the baby by the scruff of its neck and haul it away.

Billy's been watching the whole thing with his mouth hanging open in shock, a look that stays on his face as he turns to Steve,

"She saved him! The big Mama one! Did you see?" Billy's grin is as wide as his eyes, "Gutsy little bitch!" he mutters in approval, "That cat had no chance."

*

The pair of raccoons come back a few hours later. Steve notices them when he gets up to fetch some snacks, and he gestures for Billy to come see.   
Even he has to admit that it's sweet, the big raccoon delving into the trash pile and pulling out some choice bits- scraps of meat and chunks of potato- which she bites down into smaller pieces and then hands to the baby.

"You're not gonna sweep 'em away now, right?" Billy whispers, 

Steve shakes his head. He'd already tidied the broom away, propping it back inside the pokey cupboard next to the fridge.

"Nah, they've been through enough tonight. Let them eat trash."  
  


He deliberately ignores Billy's smug smirk.


	2. Leonardo Da Stinky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy becomes a bit of a weird raccoon guy...
> 
> _"So. Leonardo?"  
>  "What about him?"  
> "Just. Leonardo?"  
> "Yes…?"  
> "That's what you're going with? For a raccoon? Leonardo?"  
> "Yeah? What's wrong with Leonardo?"  
> "You don't wanna go with, like, Bandit? Or something?"  
> "Well no, Steve, because he's not a bandit. He's an artist." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just more fluff. And, uh, maybe a warning for some TERRIBLE puns?
> 
> Thanks to HeckinaHandbasket and SheWritesDirty for their help with some of the raccoon names!

As grateful as he is to have a job that doesn't involve Russians working underneath his feet, or require him to wear any kind of themed costume beyond his vest and his ' _We're All Family at Family Video_ ' badge, Steve is still certain that late shifts suck. They suck slightly less when Robin's around, her jibes and jokes and seemingly endless knowledge of movie trivia helping to pass the time, but they're still long and full of customers with demands and no manners and too many stupid questions and the seeming inability to understand that, as talented as he is, even Steve can't magic up a copy of _Hoosiers_ when it hasn't actually been released on tape yet. And no, just because it's about Indiana doesn't mean that the Hawkins' branch of Family Video will get it any sooner, and _no_ , he's not going to call Hollywood to check.  
  
But it's worth it, Steve thinks, when he can arrive home, push open the yellowgreen door and be greeted by the sight of Billy Hargrove, ex-bad boy of Hawkins High, poking a wooden spoon into a sizzling pan of Steve's favourite barbecue fried chicken, nodding his head along to Queen and- most importantly- wearing a blue, floral apron and a pair of grey sweatpants and with a scrunchie in his hair to keep it out of his eyes.   
There's a slightly stained Tupperware container on the counter beside him, already filled with some chunks of crispy chicken, and Steve can't help but reach into it as he walks past, fingers itching to pull at a bit of crispy coating starting to peel away from one of the chicken legs.

"No!" Billy slaps at Steve's hand with the spoon, "That's for Leonardo."

Steve draws his hand back with a hiss, looking affronted.

"Who's Leonardo?" he asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, "and why are you cooking for him?"

"Oh just someone I've been getting to know," Billy ladles another chunk of the chicken into the Tupperware, "You know him too. Dark eyes, kinda chunky, usually works a night shift." Billy pauses, smiling slyly. "Really cute."

And. Oh. OK.  
  
Steve tries to ignore the sourness in his stomach as he starts racking his brain to figure out who Billy's talking about. He only knows a few of their neighbours by name, and Billy knows even fewer. There's old Mrs. Maisel across the street- Steve shovelled her driveway over the winter and she gave him a coffee that was about seventy per cent whiskey and then asked about his _'special friend'-_ and then there's the Ellises, and while Mr Ellis is definitely chunky he's not exactly what Steve would call cute and he works downtown at the DMV which definitely closes at some inconveniently early hour. 

Maybe Billy's talking about someone at his garage? But Steve's met most of Billy's co-workers and he doesn't remember anyone called Leonardo. Unless this guy is new and Billy's not mentioned him for a reason-

"Stevie?" Billy's voice breaks into his thoughts, and Steve's aware that he's been staring into space for the last few seconds with an anxious look on his face.   
Billy is apologetic when he notices,  
"Joke. Steve, baby. Sorry. Bad joke."   
He lets the wooden spoon fall with a clatter as he pulls Steve in for a kiss,   
"Leo's the raccoon."

And. Ahh. Ok.  
That makes...not sense, exactly, because there's still a lot there that Steve needs to unpack.  
But it quells the nauseating rush of panic.

"You named him?" Steve steps back, just far enough to give Billy a truly disapproving look, "And you're feeding him? Bill he's not...he's a _pest_ not a pet."

"You're a pest and I feed you," Billy smirks, picking up another piece of chicken to drop in the plastic box.

"That joke wasn't even funny the first time," Steve rolls his eyes, but the relief coursing through his veins has him grinning anyway, 

Billy smiles back, "Anyway, he might stop going through the bins if we give him some good food."

"Fine. Fine." Steve throws up his hands as he sits down at the table, "But you're feeding me first _._ "

Later, when the plates are clear and Steve's done running his finger around both of their plates to mop up the last of the barbecue sauce, he brings up the subject of the raccoons again.

"So. Leonardo?"

"What about him?" Billy asks, trying to look innocent.

"Just. Leonardo?"

"Yes…?"

"That's what you're going with?" Steve tilts his head, trying to work it out, "For a raccoon? Leonardo?"

"Yeah? What's wrong with Leonardo?"

"You don't wanna go with, like, Bandit? Or something?"

Billy shoots Steve an amused look, a kind of raised eyebrow, mouth tilted to the side look that meant he was going to draw out his joke for as long as he could spin it. Steve loved to see it, loved the way that the expression came with a freer side of Billy. A silly, playful side that had grown slowly over their time together. 

The corners of Billy's lips twitch in amusement as he answers,  
"Well no, Steve, because he's not a bandit. He's an artist."

And Steve is already looking forward to seeing where this is going,  
"He trespassed on our land _and_ caused a huge mess."

Billy's trying to look serious, but there's a tell tale sparkle in his eyes, "That's his art. Maybe it's a little avant-garde for your taste but-"

Steve's smile is huge even as he cuts Billy off, "He literally made a pile of trash."

"Hey, everyone's a critic," Billy shrugged, "And anyway, his full name's Leonardo Da Stinky so he's gotta keep up the image."

The laugh that escapes from Steve is a gaspy, dorky giggle and Billy's grins at him, his eyes crinkling with a look of sheer fondness as Steve snorts through his nose.

"You're a dumbass," Steve says, the moment he has himself under control.

"True," Billy nods,"Butchya love me, which makes _you_ even more of a dumbass." 

Steve rolls his eyes and stands up, reaching out for Billy's plate and piling it on top of his own.

"I do. I am," he admits with faux defeat as he carries the plates over to the sink and submerges them in the soapy water, "Just two dumbasses and their feral, vermin sidekick. Kicking ass and eating chicken." 

"Eating ass," Billy corrects, stepping behind him and taking advantage of Steve's occupied hands to grab at his butt, "this ass, in particular."

He hooks his chin over Steve's shoulder, and they both look out of the window.  
Steve can just about make out Billy's Tupperware container, sitting right at the edge of the spotlight from the porch light.   
Because _of course_ Leonardo got served first, regardless of whatever Steve had insisted.

There's definitely something bent over the box, a lumpy butt and a striped tail wiggling in the air.

"Hey! Leo's back!" Steve announces, then mentally kicks himself for using the damn name. He's _not_ getting attached to these rodents. He's not.

"Oh yeah, and there's Big Bitch-Mama too," Billy peers out into the dark, "And, uh, I think? There's another one? Over there, by the petunias."

Steve glances to the right, squinting at the row of tall blue flowers, until Billy points towards the left, at a whole different tub of smaller, pink blooms, and Steve spots a bigger, fatter critter sniffing the air.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah! I see them. Definitely another one. Big Daddy, maybe?" 

Billy keeps looking, his eyes fixed out of the window, but Steve can't tear his gaze away from Billy's face and the sheer joy of his expression.

And Steve thinks it's worth every tipped bin, split trash bag and surrendered piece of fried chicken just to see him so happy. 

*

Steve ends up with a lot more late shifts as the month goes on, with most of them being the dull ones without Robin. He knows he must've done something to piss off Keith, but he's not entirely sure what it was. It may have been the hypothetical he posed about whether Han Solo would win in a fight against Indiana Jones.  
Or maybe it was the fact that he'd accidentally included Rocky Horror when the big, beefy guy had asked for all the Rocky films and then left Keith to deal with the fallout  
But _still._ It seemed excessive.

And maybe it meant that Billy had been alone for a few more nights than he was used to.   
But that was no excuse for...this.

Because his boyfriend, his hot, Californian metal head lover, has turned into a weird raccoon guy.

Steve finds him leaning on the kitchen counter, with a mug of cocoa in his hands, peering out of the window with a tranquil smile on his face as he watches Leonardo and the rest of the little trash pandas scurrying about on the yard.

"Hey Bill," Steve murmurs softly, not wanting to disturb him, "how's it going?" 

Billy turns to him, absolutely beaming, and Steve braces himself for the onslaught.

"Big Bitch-Mama Da Stinky brought Leo's baby sisters along again today! That's all three babies here now, look! And earlier I _swear_ that Trash Williams and Clawie Feldman were hooking up behind the rosebushes, but that damn busybody Molly Ringworm went and interrupted."  
Billy pauses for a moment to take a gulp of cocoa, and then carries on,  
"I told you how she's been all moody since Garbilio Pestevez started sniffing around Flea Snyder, right? And yeah, maybe she's a bit lonely but that's _all_ on her. At least Flea doesn't hog the meatloaf or bite Garbilio's tail when they're playing tag." 

"You remember that we have cable, right?" Steve jokes, toeing off his shoes and throwing his jacket over the chair. "Hundreds of channels. Soap operas with actual, talking humans."

He's actually somewhat surprised that Billy's still inside. The last few nights, Steve had come home to find him sitting on the steps outside, cooing over the braver raccoons who now scampered up to him and took tidbits straight from his fingers.  
He comes to stand behind Billy, leaning his chin onto his shoulder and wrapping one arm around his waist as they both look out in looking out at the yard. Steve can spot at least eight raccoons converging on the porch now, three with their heads deep in Billy's collection of Tupperware containers, the others either grooming each other or playing up and down the steps.

He has to admit, they're cute. For pests.

Steve steps away, taking Billy's hand and tugging him towards the couch but, for once, Billy resists.

"OK if I keep watching?" Billy holds up his still half-full cup,"Just for a few more minutes. Mama'll be rounding up the babies soon for bedtime anyway."

Billy tilts his head, batting his lashes, "And I promise I'll bring some more cocoa with me."

Steve's hit with one of those waves of sheer happiness he gets sometimes; a bubble of warmth spreading through his heart until it almost hurts to breathe with how full his chest feels.  
He presses a kiss to Billy's shoulder, and then another to his cheek, feeling the slight burn of stubble against his lips.

"I guess I'll allow it," he murmurs, pressing one last kiss to the ticklish spot under Billy's jaw, "'S long as you put marshmallows on mine."

Steve heads into the living room, settling onto the couch with one leg curled up underneath him and his hand searching for the remote that he _knows_ has slipped between the cushions. He can still hear Billy chatting away to the raccoons.

It's sweet.  
Freakin' adorable, actually.

There's a delighted gasp from the kitchen, and Steve hears Billy saying, " _Oh hey, are you another baby? Aww, damn, I think the food's all gone. Hang on, lemme get the leftover leftovers."_

There's the tell-tale clunk of the fridge and then the snick of the back door. Steve can picture Billy padding out onto the porch, bowl of veggies in hand, to try and tempt the new arrival.   
He grins, wondering what Billy's going to name this new addition to his fluffy family.   
And ok, yeah, maybe they're all technically vermin, and there's probably some weird health code or homeowners thing they're violating right now but, honestly, the critters are growing on him too. 

He hears the door click open again. 

"Uh, Stevie? Darlin’?" Billy's voice is somewhat hesitant, and the use of that _particular_ pet name has Steve already half-way out of his seat.   
_Darlin’_ always meant trouble. Meant that Billy had done something rather _ill-advised_ or needed to break a bit of bad news.  
But still, Steve thinks, it’s probably not too bad. Maybe Billy accidentally put the leftovers onto some of Nonna Harrington's best china, or one of the raccoons has chewed through a cable somewhere or pooped all over the lawn chairs or-

"I, uh, I think we might have attracted a skunk." 

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Billy is not a responsible raccoon lover. I don't really know if you even should feed them (I have zero raccoon experience) but you almost certainly should not feed them fried chicken and other leftovers.   
> So, uh, yeah. Don't take wildlife care tips from Billy.
> 
> Come talk to me about Harringrove on Tumblr! I'm [CherryDreamer](https://cherrydreamer.tumblr.com/)


End file.
